I am from the land of Scarlet O’Hara and Rhett Butler. Palmetto trees that repel cannon balls and rice fields that now grow the scattered stalks of grain on overgrown canals and river basins.
I am from a family of teachers, counselors, musicians and readers who do not stop talking until they see Orion’s belt dot the sky.
I am from a landscape of solitary imagination: crawdad creeks and pine trees and Boykin spaniels; exploring together my backyard’s great unknown.
I am from an International Baccalaureate program who obsessed over the Monroe Doctrine and Crime and Punishment.
I am from South Carolina, Georgia, Cherokee tribes, Ireland, Scotland, England, Germany. I wish I was from France. I wish I was from Barcelona.
I am from a 300 acre farm divided among children, their children’s children, their children’s children’s children. What now is only fields was once filled with cows, tobacco, corn and cotton. The seeds pricked my fingers as I tried to loosen the pillowy fabric from their stalks.
This is about a five minute product of writing from the prompt “I am from…”
Very useful, and accessible for anyone who writes–great for writing classes. I may come back to this and extend it, especially since the concept of “Home” is one that has been filling my mind for the past couple of years. Enjoy.